


Sensitivity

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair's libidinous morning meanderings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sensitivity

## Sensitivity

by Sharilyn

No money being made, no infringement intended. Not mine - but not for want of trying

To my wonderful friends Robn and Gaye who have put up with my annoying emails and dribbles of fanfic without a peep of protest for these many months.

Please don't kill me -I am new to writing TS and am used to writing Jack and Daniel!

* * *

*The taste of your mouth and the color of your skin, skin, mouth, fruit of these swift days, tell me, were they always beside you  
through years and journeys and moons and suns and earth and weeping and rain and joy  
or is it only now that  
they come from your roots,  
only as water brings to the dry earth  
burgeonings that it did not know,  
or as to the lips of the forgotten jug  
the taste of the earth rises in the water?* 

The taste of Jim rests salty in my mouth, earthy on my flesh; the warmth of his incredible body draped like a second skin over mine pins me down so safely, so deliciously, into the mattress beneath us...and as the first, faint hints of dawn filter down into the loft's bedroom, I find myself biting down hard on the inside of my cheek just to reassure myself that I'm actually awake. It always hits me like this: it never fails that when I first open my eyes I'm afraid it's all just some wild, yearning-filled dream, and it takes me a full minute to assure myself that this is real, that what we have between us is solid and true and--thank You, God--permanent. 

I love you, Jim, I want to whisper into his ear now, my lips twitching with the strong desire to do just that; but he's so tired, yesterday was so rough on him...and he looks so peaceful right now that I don't have the heart to disturb him. Even as exhausted as he is, I know his senses would still be able to pick up even the barest wisp of sound were I to spin words of love and longing into the curving shell of his ear, voiced in a breath barely above silence but still all too audible to my Sentinel. So I just hold the words inside me for now, repeating them soundlessly to myself as I watch him sleep, my fingers aching to reach out and caress the strong, beautiful planes of his face, my thumbs itching to trace his lips and then follow up that tactile exploration with a deeper foray of my tongue within the heated cavern of his mouth. 

Oh, God, I want him-- _need_ him--so fucking much! It scares me, to feel this intensely about another human being, and the fact that the human in question is a man hasn't made any of this any easier. Not that I've ever been all that fixated on sexual orientation or gender issues; whatever floats your boat, you know? I just always knew--or thought I did--that for me women were my preferred objects of desire. It took me almost three years and a lot of useless mental and emotional agony to figure out that it's really all about love-a love so deep and fierce and right that the packaging it ultimately came in was revealed to me in slow, sweet increments of insight as something holy, something unutterably marvelous, something so beautiful and hot and sexy that the poor sap who was lucky enough to be at the receiving end of such powerful feelings could do nothing but surrender, sinking down in a blissful daze of surprised joy into arms tailor-made just for him, eons ago and counting. Yeah, that's me, Blair 'the Sap' Sandburg, lying here now snuggled in big, tough Jim Ellison's arms like I've come home, like this is where I've always belonged. 

So...was it fated that we would be together like this, at this particular moment in time, Jim and me? I know it can't have been an accident, a coincidence, blind fate...no, the taste of his skin is too familiar, the hard, beloved length of him over and in and all around me too perfect a fit for this to be anything but natural, as easy and as effortless now as breathing. Oh, at first it wasn't so simple; I guess the both of us were in some heavy-duty denial for awhile, and it almost ruined us--our friendship, our work together, our very souls. But luckily for us we're both possessed of two very pushy, very insistent animal spirit guides who refused to let us carelessly destroy what was meant to be between us. And I'm just arrogant enough, just vain enough, to want to believe that Jim and I would have figured it all out on our own eventually, anyway--without outside interference--before it was too late. But deep down I'm secretly glad the wolf and the panther came to us both to set us straight; the knowledge of just how close we came to throwing all this away still scares the shit out of me. 

Damn, I wish he'd wake up now; I know, I know, he really does need his sleep, and there will be plenty of time later for the wild, hot loving I'm lying here now fantasizing about till I'm so hard I think I'll just explode and die...sigh. Maybe I could just _sort_ of wake him up, just enough to have my wicked way with him but he could still be dozing, like sleep-fucking or something...but no, that won't work. If and when we ever put our hands on each other, not to mention our hot, willing mouths...then it's all over, no turning back, all systems wide awake and at full alert and ready--oh, yeah, baby, _so_ ready--to go... 

Was that an actual whimper that just sneaked its way past my throat? Shit, if I don't chill I'm gonna wake him up, and he just might not wake up happy. I mean, he's had a brutal schedule all week, and just because _my_ libido is in overdrive after three damned days of celibacy doesn't mean that Jim's lost that famous Ellison control over his senses and his appetites...Oops, seems a certain portion of my anatomy just _had_ to give Jim's thigh a nudge hello; geez, I can't help it, I'm buried under this rock-hard mountain of musky-smelling, obscenely sexy police detective with a burgeoning hard-on of his own that's currently trying to drill a hole through my pelvis, and I swear to God if I don't just grab his face in about three seconds and kiss the living shit out if him, I'm gonna lose my _mind..._ Hey, wait, he's hard... _really_ hard. That has to mean... 

Oh. Uh-oh. "Uh, hello, Jim. Did I...um... wake you? Sorry, man; I tried to be really still, I swear I did, I was gonna just go back to sleep myself but then I felt...and you're so...just so.. _hard_ , and beautiful...and I really, I mean...mmmffff...oh, Jim, yeah, man...oh fucking yes..." Oh, God, do I love mornings in this household... 

*I don't know, don't tell me, you don't know. Nobody knows these things.  
But bringing all my senses close   
to the light of your skin, you disappear...* 

*ah, from your skin everything comes back to my mouth, comes back to my heart, comes back to my body, and with you I become again  
the earth that you are:  
you are deep spring in me:  
in you I know again how I am born.* 

God, he tastes so good; I'm not even fully awake yet, my hazy blue gaze squinting not a little grumpily down into his startled, apologetic face, and already I can feel the dry cavern of my mouth filling with moisture, with need, with a hunger for the tang of sweat and sweetness and arousal rising in heady waves from his naked skin pressed so insistently against mine. Vaguely I'm aware that he's murmuring something to me, some sort of apology for waking me up; but at the same time he's already rubbing himself against me like a friendly kitten...no, make that more like a voracious predator, his fingers digging into my arms, pulling me even closer into the fiery heat of his body, lining up his incredible hardness with my own rampaging need, his legs sliding up and around to wrap themselves like velcro around my waist as he begins thrusting against me, his eyes huge and dark and burning with fierce desire, with love. 

"Jim!..." he gasps out hoarsely, his fingers digging into my shoulders, tugging me down so that our chests are pressed together with barely room to breathe and no room at all for conscious, rational thought anymore...Oh, God, Jesus, he is so, so sweet, so fucking _hot,_ and as I lower my head and take his mouth in a wet, bruising kiss, the explosion of his taste on my tongue, of his essence melding like liquid fire into every pore of my body, is almost too much for my heightened senses to take. It all happened so fast, I didn't have time to dial anything down, oh, God, don't let me come too soon, I don't want this to end yet, we just got started!... 

"Easy, love, easy..." Blair's voice is a sinuous, delectable whisper in my ear, his frantic movements slowing, slowing, almost stopping completely as he realizes just how fragile my own control is right now; with the both of us groaning and panting helplessly into each other's mouths, we settle our sweat-slicked bodies more deeply into the mattress and just rest there for a long moment, our thundering heartbeats gradually slowing into a synchronized rhythm that's slow and steady and drugged with the sweetest flavor of desire. 

"God, babe, you just make me...so crazy," I sigh against his neck as I manage to wrest my treacherous senses back into some semblance of voluntary control. "You feel so damned good, Chief, smell so enticing, and the way you taste!--Oh, God, I could come just from licking you once, right here on the side of your throat..." 

"Oh, man, that's good, Jim, that's so fucking _good,"_ Blair whimpers helplessly beneath me, his voice a drunken slur of helpless arousal as my tongue traces the quivering ridge of his carotid beneath his flushed skin. "Don't stop doing that, God, don't you ever fucking stop that..." 

"But if I don't stop this, then I can't ever move on along and do... _this_..." I tease him lightly as I begin to lay a trail of long, attentive licks and nibbles down his chest to the flat plane of his stomach; as my tongue circles the dip of his navel and swirls the fine, dark hairs there in a crisscross pattern, Blair moans in something close to pain and once again thrusts up against me, his hands going to my head to push me lower, fingers scrabbling at my short hair in an agony of sexual frustration as he begs me to suck him, oh God, Jim, do it _now_ before I _die..!"_

And as I move obligingly down to the sacred, secret juncture between his thighs, I breathe in earth and water and air and fire, all of it everything Blair is, offered up to me in the hard, sturdy, hungry length of him; his soul rises up to meet mine through the slide of my lips over the crown of him, through the silky glide of my mouth up and down the most intimate parts of him, tasting his life, his need, drawing him into me in just this way as he sobs and bucks and shakes beneath me, his hands unaccountably gentle on my head, cradling me there even as he presses so wildly into the wet core of my mouth, giving me everything, taking all I give in return, both of us joined and fused and inextricably, beautifully one...always. Ever. And I know this is right, this is perfect, this is us, together, two unique souls blessed with this greatest of gifts, smiled down on by the gods who love, who know that this brief, heated union of flesh with flesh, breath with breath, is but a symbol of the deeper fire beneath, a shadow image of all that is really true. 

I love you, Blair; dear God, how I love you, I want to tell him now; but we've both collapsed into each other, our bodies completely drained, mute, struggling for even the faintest memory of how to breathe again, how to fold back into two separate, distinct entities. It's almost painful, this slow, regretful parting, this bereft sensation of spiritual and physical coldness as we slip helplessly away from one other, no matter how tightly we lock our limbs around each other, no matter how many kisses we press to foreheads, cheeks, chins, eyes. 

"I love you, Jim," he manages to gasp after an eternity, his eyes sated and heavy but already filling, far back in the depths of his pupils, with the same nameless yearning I feel rising within my chest. "I love you so much..." 

"Yours, Chief; you know that, no question, no turning back...I'm yours, always yours, I'll never have enough of you, never stop needing you, wanting...Oh, God, babe, I just want and want and it's so strong, it's always rising, it's everywhere and everything, you're part of me now, always with me..." 

And as his eyes inexplicably fill with tears, I slide him snugly into the cleft between my left arm and my side and run my right hand through his tangled, springy hair, murmuring silly love words into his ear as his arms circle almost desperately around my torso and he tells me how perfect I am, how strong and deep and beautiful every part of me is to his eyes, to his spirit. And I don't care if this isn't 'manly,' if this absolutely reeks of smarmy sentimentalism. I have Blair here with me, snug and safe and God, so _loved,_ in my arms, and as we align our faces to kiss again, I know we are invincible. I know we are complete. 

* * *

  * these excerpts are from the poem "Ode and Burgeonings" by Pablo Neruda* 



* * *

End Sensitivity by Sharilyn: sharilyn2@earthlink.net

Author and story notes above.

  
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